Maxx England: trip
So, the boots are on and key clicks in the lock,
Door swings, daylight on bars and saddle.
Roll the beast backwards and sidestand down.
Door locked and load the bag on the back,
Swing into the seat and flick to run.
A hundred and half a hundred miles to the coast.
The twin rumbles behind raked out forks,
Feet forward to the rests, hands wide to the grips.
One mile to the first fuel, air, check the bag.
And away, local roads to the back of nowhere,
With houses washed with long history.
Back to trickle through suburban traffic now.
Toward the tourist trap, stay inside the limit,
Right at the Golden Cross and let it loose.
Green tree tunnel, tarmac ribbon, yahoo slalom.
Roll it on, racket under you, shut off for the bend,
Pour the coals back on, surge forward, heart sings.
Gears and levers, tilt till your boots chamfer.
Feel the rhythm and the groove of the ride,
Bugs spraying on the helmet, V twin heaven.
Softly through the little town and on.
The A road, cloaked in fields and brokers’ cottages,
Black and white half timbered wealth.
Run to the front at the roadworks queue.
On and roll and on and roll and roll, roll, roll,
Swing and run and charge the remembered way.
And thunder pouring from open pipes.
Around the civil war city, in the beyond now,
Road curves and climbs towards the border.
Thirsty. Pull in for tea on high on a hill.
Off and now and north, fuel light showing,
Turn off the A to fill the futile little tank.
Away again to chase miles and the journey’s end.
Left! See that sign beckoning, here’s the turn,
Road narrows and now a new slalom meander.
The tunnel, the tube starts to close in again.
The highway snakes up and down and rise and dip,
Bike wanders, lurches on lost damping.
And endless tunnel, funnel, channel, green and grey.
Big shop on the left over the hill then swing right,
The border line changes road sign language.
Araf! Pergyl! Miltir, foreign unfamiliar.
Twin thunder echoes everlasting from the banks,
Road steeper, sharper then straight and back.
Names on the map become known places.
Here’s the big climb, stone walls clench the road,
Car struggling as the iron heart hauls.
Backwheel spin slide curve launch past the hatchback.
Top of the world, high and wild, grass and sun.
By farms, by fields, by farriers.
Thundering descent into an ancient town.
Out again, hurrying through the stone edged hills,
Mind knowing nothing but motion.
The warning light laments another dry tank.
Friendly gravity leads to petrol, benzin, gasoline,
Down a drink, walk, straighten legs.
And know the pain of a thinly padded seat.
Final leg, last miles by a river to meet up,
Now surf and salt, coast road and beach.
And into the seaside town of Kiss-Me-Quick hats.
Round the last, ultimate, final, corner, bend,
Over the café wall waved welcome.
Pull in, press kill, subside.
The only way is forward. Now where's the bar?
